Dangerously Bound

by Eden Bradley

  They moved into the kitchen, where Mick’s mother—still a beauty with a head of gorgeous dark curls even in her sixties—was spooning coleslaw from an enormous Tupperware container into a festive plastic bowl. She set it down and wiped her hands on her apron, coming around the counter to take Allie in her arms.

  “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here. Thank you for joining us.”

  “Thank you so much for inviting me, Maureen.”

  “Of course.” Mick’s mother let her go and looked her over. “All grown up. I can remember you at sixteen like it was yesterday. How’s your mother doing?”

  “She’s just fine. Still up at four a.m. every morning to bake, same as always.”

  “Good. That’s good. Mick, you come give your mother a kiss.”

  He leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek.

  “Has he been nice to you, Allie?”

  “He has. You’ve trained him well.”

  “That’s my boy,” Maureen said, beaming. “Now, what can I get you to drink? Sweet tea? Lemonade?”

  “A cold beer for us both, I think, Mom. Allie? Yes? I’ll get it.”

  “I’d heard Allister did your kitchen remodel,” Allie said as Mick grabbed two bottles from the refrigerator. “It’s gorgeous. He’s started work on my place. I can’t wait for the dust to settle, especially if it turns out anything like yours.”

  “Thank you, honey. I’m thrilled with it. And Mick told me about the work being done on your house. I’m awfully sorry about your aunt Joséphine, by the way. You weren’t close with her, were you?”

  “I don’t think anyone was. I’m not even sure why she left the house to me. Maybe because I was the only relative left in the States, although she did have some family in France.”

  Maureen took her hand and looked her in the eye. “Some things are just meant to be.”

  She resisted the urge to pull away and smiled instead. “Yes, I guess they are.”

  “You two go on out back and see the rest of the family. Allie, you haven’t even met my grandson, have you?”

  “I haven’t.”

  Mick reached into the bowl and pulled out a piece of cabbage, stuffed it into his mouth. Maureen gave his hand a slap. “Go on, now. I’ve got work to do in here.”

  “Can I help with anything?” Allie asked.

  “Don’t be silly—you know I have control issues when it comes to my kitchen. You go visit. Enjoy yourself. I’ll be out in a bit.”

  “Come on.”

  Mick took her hand and led her through the pantry and out the back door that led to the screened-in deck. She smelled the sausage and shrimp cooking on the grill right away, mixed with the summer scent of the sun hitting the green leaves of the big lacebark elm that grew in the Reids’ yard. Marie Dawn was next to her in a moment, pulling her away from Mick to greet his brothers. Gareth and Nolan both looked a bit more like their mother’s side of the family, with rounder features and her blue eyes. They introduced her to Nolan’s fiancée, Katie, and Gareth’s wife, Leanne. Their teenage son, Colby, was throwing a Frisbee on the grass for Emmet and Maureen’s old yellow lab, Scratch, who had been a puppy the last time she’d seen him.

  She felt that sense of family right down to her bones—the bond they all shared. It was one of the things she and Mick had in common. Except that he always held a part of himself at a distance from the people she knew wanted to love him, to take him in and accept him completely. She could almost sense his walls coming up the moment they’d walked in the door.

  Did he live with that pressure constantly? Carry it nearly every day of his life?

  “Come and talk wedding stuff with Katie,” Marie Dawn said, pulling Allie out of her musing to sit with the Reid family’s newest member-to-be. Katie was a lovely young woman, sweet and friendly, and it was easy for Allie to lose herself in discussions about wedding cakes and flowers.

  By the time the food was ready, she was much more relaxed, remembering what it felt like to be at home in this house as if by muscle memory. Everyone ate at long wooden trestle tables set up in the yard under a tent of mosquito netting. There was a veritable feast: the promised barbequed shrimp and spicy alligator sausage, Maureen’s coleslaw and cornbread and icy lemonade, red beans and rice, and pecan pie for dessert. Allie ate until she couldn’t move, and everyone but Colby stayed at the table for hours, telling all the old stories about New Orleans’s great fires and the Reid men being there to battle the flames. Gareth was cajoled into showing off his scar from a bad warehouse fire that had almost gotten him killed saving a fellow firefighter from a back draft, and all of Emmet’s sons talked with pride about their father having served the city for almost forty years.

  Everyone except Mick.

  He sat beside Allie like stone. He tried to smile, to nod his head, but the fact that he couldn’t be an integral part of the conversation was killing him, she knew. The family didn’t do it on purpose, of course, and she understood there was no way they could have ignored Emmet, Gareth, Nolan and Neal’s accomplished careers in the department. But for the first time she came to understand how it must grate on Mick’s nerves, like drilling on a bad tooth, every time the family got together. She hurt for him.

  “Mick,” Maureen started, turning to him, “tell us about the time you saved that young girl from being trampled to death at that concert.” She glanced at Allie, pride and something else in her blue eyes. “He was bruised all over by the time he got her out, but there wasn’t a scratch on the girl. Her parents sent him so many thank-you cards you’d think they bought stock in the company.”

  “No, Mom. It’s Dad’s day.”

  “Ah, come on, Mick,” Neal urged, jostling his shoulder. “It was pretty damn heroic.”

  Mick just shook his head and raised the bottle of beer he’d been nursing all day. “To Dad. Happy Father’s Day, chief.”

  “To Dad,” the entire family echoed.

  There was much clinking of bottles and plastic cups, then everyone fell into different conversations, including Mick and Neal. But Allie was acutely aware of what that bad moment had cost him.

  Eventually the party broke up and they said their good-byes, Maureen making Allie promise she’d come by the house again, and Katie having gotten Allie’s number to talk more about making her wedding cake.

  Mick was quiet on the drive back to his place. Or, she’d thought they were heading to his place, but he took a turn that led into her neighborhood.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “But . . .” She paused, chewing on her lip for a moment. “Mick? Do we ever see each other and not spend the night if you’re not going out of town?”

  He kept his eyes on the road. “I guess not.”

  “So, this is different because . . . ?”

  When he didn’t answer she looked out the window, waiting. He was quiet as they passed a row of houses laced with scaffolding, another row of homes that had been newly rebuilt. There were shops on the next block, one a produce market with stands on the sidewalk, stacked high with melons and cabbage and beans, oranges and peppers in every imaginable color. She was glad to see the city had gained so much of its old vibrancy.

  She wondered if Mick ever would.

  When they got to her place, he parked and sat staring out the front windshield.

  “Are you coming in, at least?” she asked.

  “I’d rather you not see this.”

  “See what, Mick?”

  She laid a hand on his arm but felt him stiffen under her touch.

  He shook his head.

  She waited.

  After a few moments she said quietly, “You know, I’m not getting out of this truck until you give me some sort of answer.”

  “I kind of figured you wouldn’t, yo
u being you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re stubborn as hell, Allie.”

  “I thought you liked that about me.”

  “Maybe a little less right now.”

  That stung.

  “Fuck you, Mick,” she said quietly.

  He whipped his head around. “What did you say?” His eyes were blazing.

  “You heard me.” Anger was hot in her veins suddenly, burning her up inside. “You and your surly attitude. I used to think it was sexy. Damn it, maybe I still do. But I don’t like it one bit when it’s turned on me. When it’s turned on us. I get it. I have some family issues, too, you know, but maybe you’re too caught up in your own shit to notice. So go on. You do whatever you need to do about your issues—indulge in your juvenile desire to get your face bashed in or whatever the hell helps you get it out of your system—but don’t take it out on me.” Her hands fisted at her sides. “Don’t you do it, Mick.”

  He looked stunned. Then his tight features relaxed, his mouth going wide until there was nothing short of a grin there.

  “Are you laughing at me?” she asked in shock.

  “Maybe I’m laughing at me. But Lord, were you mad.”

  “Maybe I still am,” she said, not entirely certain herself.

  He watched her for several long moments, then he launched himself at her.

  It wouldn’t have been possible had his truck been any smaller, but in seconds he was on top of her, having pushed her down on the seat, and he was kissing her hard, one hand fisted in her hair, holding on tight.

  She tried to push him off her, but she may as well have been shoving at a brick wall. He kissed her harder, his tongue pushing its way into her mouth, and he tasted of beer and spices and only a little of quickly recovering ego.

  * * *

  MICK PULLED BACK, watching her. He’d felt her surrender, had forced past her stubbornness and her anger to get there. But she was still pissed, he could tell from the way her fingers dug into his shoulders, still pretending to push him away.

  “You angry with me, baby?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re damn pretty when you’re mad.”

  “Didn’t we talk about condescension being a hard limit?” she asked, only partly fake fuming.

  “We did not.”

  “We should have,” she muttered.

  He grabbed her and pulled her closer, heard her small gasp as he lifted her hand and bit into her palm.

  “We can have that talk in bed. While I’m fucking you into a better mood.”

  “My mood was just fine! Yours is the one that sucked.”

  “I never specified whose mood we’d be improving.”

  “But . . .” she sputtered. “Whatever.”

  “Whatever what?” he demanded.

  “Whatever . . . Sir?” She rolled her eyes, but there was a small grin on her face.

  “Ah, that’s my girl. Come on.”

  He got out and pulled her, sliding her across the seat and out his side of the truck. He took her hand and hurried up the walk, took her keys from her and opened the door, slamming it shut behind them. He led her into the kitchen.

  “You. Here,” he ordered, yanking her in hard, until he could feel every soft female curve pressed up against him. His cock went rock-hard.

  She was a little breathless already. She licked her lips. He leaned in and bit them—he couldn’t resist.

  “Mmm.”

  She smelled so damn good—he could smell the sun on her skin, in her hair. He reached behind her and pulled out the clip, and she shook her long tresses free. He buried his face in her hair, inhaled. Dug his fingers in and pulled tight.

  He whispered in her ear, “I’m going to fuck you over the kitchen table, princess. Take your panties off.”

  He let her go and she took one step back, lifted her dress to reach under it, bent and came back up with a small handful of pink lace. He took them from her and tossed them on the floor before turning her roughly and bending her over the edge of the small, round table, using a hand to press her down onto the wood surface until her cheek laid there.

  “Mick . . .”

  “Shh.”

  He flipped the hem of her dress up, baring her perfectly rounded ass, pulled open the buttoned fly of his cargo pants and pulled his cock out. Christ, he was so hard it hurt. Had to be inside her.

  “Spread,” he told her, and she complied.

  He reached under her, found her pussy already wet.

  “Have to just fuck you, baby.” He guided his cock to her opening, rammed inside her all at once. “Fuck, yeah . . .”

  “Oh!”

  He pulled back, thrust hard again, needing it to be hard and fast and merciless for reasons he didn’t understand. He took one of her arms and twisted it behind her back, held it there as he plunged into her over and over.

  Pleasure was like a hammer, pounding into him. She was moaning, crying out, and he felt her sex tighten around him. He reached around her and found the tight nub of her clit. He tugged on it, pinched, twisted the tender flesh between his fingers as he rammed into her.

  “God, Mick!”

  She came, her sweet pussy clenching around him, then drenching him with her pleasure. It was too much for him. He came in a torrent of fiery sensation, fucking her harder and harder, pleasure and heat blinding him as he shivered inside her.

  “Baby, baby, baby . . .”

  He could barely breathe. He’d barely stopped coming and he needed her again already.

  He slipped out of her, turning her and pulling her into his arms. Hers went around his neck.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “What? I’m so good, baby girl.”

  And it was true. Partly. The other part he’d either ignore until it went away, or he’d just keep fucking Allie until it disappeared. It was either that or go fight. He had to admit the fucking was better.

  She stood on her toes and kissed his neck.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’m going to need you again in about five minutes.”

  She stepped back, kicked her way out of her sandals and pulled her dress over her head. Her eyes were a smoldering gold. “Ready when you are.”

  She offered her hand to him and he took it, let her take him to her bedroom, where he got out of his clothes and pushed her down on the bed.

  “Hands and knees,” he told her.

  He wasn’t even certain himself why he was being so curt with her. But she wasn’t fighting it, didn’t seem to mind. But when he came up behind her and started to wrap his T-shirt around her eyes, she pushed it away. “Hard limit, Mick,” she reminded him. “I just can’t.”

  “No problem, baby.”

  He dropped the shirt and reached under her, sliding his hands over her breasts and playing with her nipples. They went hard immediately.

  “Does that feel good, Allie girl?”

  “I like it.”

  “But . . . ?”

  “But I need you to pinch them.”

  “Like this?” He twisted the stiffening flesh between thumb and forefinger. She groaned. “I take that as a yes?”

  “Mmm, yes . . .”

  Hearing her moans, feeling her heat up beneath him, was making him hard again. He felt the desire like a pressure inside his body, his balls, his cock.

  “Gotta fuck you again,” he said, as much to himself as to her.

  He arched his hips until his cock pressed against her sex. She was wet, the lips slick and swollen.

  He let the tip slide there, back and forth in the liquid heat of her body, before he pushed inside.

  Yes, this was what he needed. To lose himself in her. In pure, mindless pleasure. In the primal nature of fucking.
>
  He plunged into her over and over, his grip on her lush body tightening, his fingers digging into her hips. But it wasn’t about giving her pain. It wasn’t about kink at all. Maybe it wasn’t even about sex. It was more about forgetting.

  He came, his body shaking, and collapsed on top of her. It was a long while before he caught his breath and realized he was probably crushing her.

  “Fuck. Sorry, babe.”

  He rolled off her and she turned onto her side, looking at him. She laid her hand on his chest.

  “You okay?” she asked again.

  “Fine. You keep asking me that.”

  “I’m just . . .” She paused, bit her lip. “Checking.”

  He wasn’t quite fine. Not yet. But he would be. There was just something about seeing his family—seeing them with Allie at his side—that made things more painfully clear. But he couldn’t think about it now. He didn’t want to.

  Some things were just too dark and ugly to look at in the light of a Sunday afternoon.

  CHAPTER

  Fourteen

  HE WOKE AT six a.m., the morning gray and overcast. Allie was asleep beside him, unmoving except for the gentle rise and fall of her breasts. He’d kept her up late, had gone out to his truck to get his rope bag at one point and tied her up, practicing some complicated knots on her. This morning he had to admit it had been mostly so they didn’t have to talk more than it was the pure pleasure of the rope work—either hers or his own.

  He hated himself a little for that.

  Flash of that cold morning when he’d gotten up and left her sleeping all those years ago. His heart in his throat as he looked at her one last time, so fucking beautiful, her head pillowed on one arm, eyes closed, long lashes against her cheeks. That tearing sensation as he left her behind. The churning in his gut for days after. The bottle of Scotch he’d finished that night while he’d justified his actions to himself over and over.

  He wasn’t good enough for her.

  Never had been. Allie was a good girl. What the hell had he done?